“You’re right, girl,” I said and hugged her neck. “She’s not crying, so she’s fine. She’s happy.”

In the same way I chatted with Molly, I talked with Isabel, also a springer spaniel, and Lucy-girlfriend, our long-haired Chihuahua look alike. All of our pets were great listeners. Well, all but one: Dickens.

Dickens came to us when I was a busy mother of three young children. He was a Norfolk Terrier—so cute you wanted to cuddle him, so cocky you wanted to bean him.

He heard, but did not listen—not to me, anyway. Oh, whenever Gary was around, Dickens saluted his master in Dr. Jekyll-like fashion.

The minute Gary left for work, that dog turned into a canine Mr. Hyde. If anyone opened a door, even the teeniest sliver, Dickens took off.

It did not matter that we had installed an underground electric fence and trained the dog to stay within its boundaries. One yip and through the fence he went.

Oh, I talked to Dickens alright—while chasing him up and down streets and in and out of neighbors’ houses.

Tender entreaties like, “Come on, boy. Look, I have a treat for you” graduated to “Get back here, you ungrateful mutt.” In between, I said, “You are going to get hit by a car” and “Leave the cat alone” and “Give me a break, will you?”

I talked until he raced out of sight. That’s when I turned my conversation to God as in “Please, God, let someone find that dog and steal him—PLEASE.”

These days, I spend my time chatting with my granddogter Stella. The antithesis of Dickens, Stella enjoys hanging out with us. She is always receptive to my thoughts, opinions, and rants.

When I talk with her, Stella wiggles her Cockapoo tail and angles her head toward me as if to say, “Is that so? Tell me more.”

According to the “Talking to Your Dog” article, “…quickness to see and read emotion and intention in your dog’s adorable tilted head is a byproduct of your skill in reading the intentions and feelings of other people.”

It goes on to say that sensitive and perceptive people talk to their pets. There you have it. I am sensitive, perceptive, and oh, so smart.

We’re all vines, really, roots that sprout and grow. We move from one stage of life to the next, trailing from one place to another, sewing seeds of ourselves as we go. Our stories cross paths—twisting, curling, entwining. We love. We laugh. We cry.
We’re not so different, you and I.